


Beginning of Something Not so Dreadful

by Clockwork



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Podcast, bad mouthing jon, drunken games, glossy smut, magnus institute, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: A budding friendship leads to Tim and Martin falling into bed together.





	Beginning of Something Not so Dreadful

The first night Tim slept at Martin’s flat had started as a fluke. 

The knocking came sometime in the wee dark hours of the morning, late enough - or early enough as the case may be - to startle Martin out of a decent sleep and send him skittering to the floor. He’d only been sleeping in his own flat for a few days since the ashes had been brought and confirmation that Prentiss was gone, that the worms were gone. 

Still the light was on in his flat, the windows sealed with plastic and tape, and the door had a pair of socks before it, filled with beans and rice that were sure to attract mice but so long as the worms couldn’t get past any crack in the door, he’d cope with rodents.

Kicking the socks out of the way, Martin had paused, his hand on the knob when the voice came.

“Open the bloody damn door, Martin, before your neighbors start calling the police.”

Frowning as he recognized Tim’s voice, Martin’s hands were shaking so bad he could barely undo the triple bolts he’d had installed. 

Tim was beyond wasted, rambling on about Jon and the Institute and how he - they - just needed to pack of their shit and leave. Not just the Institute, but the country if they had to. Martin never really got a chance to speak and before he could get a word in sideways, Tim had passed out on his couch. 

It had been the first time of many. 

The second had come only a few days later after they’d gone out to eat after getting out of the Institute late. Dinner led to a couple of pints, mocking all the horrible things they faced, and Martin letting Tim continue to go on and on about how much he hated Jon. Maybe that part hadn’t been so good, but Martin got Tim needed to let off steam, so he let him. Just like he let him follow him out of the cab and into his place afterwards. 

They woke up on the sofa, curled into one another and while Tim had no idea how they’d ended that way, Martin kept secret that he’d chosen to stay there when Tim fell asleep on his shoulder rather than slipping out from beneath the larger man and slipping back to his room. 

After that it became a fairly regular thing. Dinner, whether out or thrown together by Martin and showing a decent skill at cooking, according to Tim, and then something on the television, a few hands of cards and a couple of pints, and then both of them crashing at Martin’s flat. The Institute might be slowly wearing them down, but it gave them both a sense of security, the knowledge that they weren’t alone in this. 

Martin wasn’t sure what changed that night. They’d just come in from the pub, full of mussels and ale and laughing without that tightness around the eyes and the brittleness to the sound that so often came to their mirth. Tim stumbled coming in the door, and Martin moved to catch him, though it was a foolish thing to do. They were suddenly a jumble of limbs and laughter. Until Tim pushed Martin back against the frame of the door. Suddenly all laughter was over. 

Martin stared up at Tim with all the panic of a stag caught in the headlights, his hands gripping at Tim’s wrists where the other man’s hands clutched at the front of Martin’s jacket. Locked together, bodies only a breadth apart as Tim’s head lowered. Slow, almost as if giving Martin a chance to say no, to stop things. In truth it was anticipation as much as warning as Tim’s slightly chapped lips caught at Martin’s, plush and soft from shea butter and care. 

However it came to be in that moment, it was suddenly a whirlwind the moment their lips part. 

Tim jerking Martin into the room, kicking the door shut with the back of his boot. Martin struggling to shrug out of his coat, tossing it on the floor even as he fights to get the locks to slide into place. Forgetting the socks to block the door, forgetting to check the apartment over with a high powered torch - one in every room with extra batteries taped to them. None of that mattered now. None of that was still in his mind, haunting him as Martin half tugged, half followed Tim into the bedroom. 

Shoes clattered to the floor, clothes were only half shed, falling to the floor and over the nightstand and one, his pants, Martin would find across the room, hanging off the end of the curtain rod. Never in his life had Martin done anything like this, but what he lacked in experience he made up for in eagerness. Tim though… Tim came with all the experience.

Hands that knew just where to touch, how to position Martin so that there was only mild discomfort and then insane bouts of pleasure. Tim with a tongue that was more wicked than any of his sharp words while he was drinking. Tim that took Martin to places he had never imagined, wringing pleasure from him and leaving him curled up tightly with his back to Tim’s chest, less falling asleep as passing out from exhaustion.

Creeping out of the shower the next morning, Martin’s mind was racing. Did he make breakfast? Should he put on the kettle? Would Tim even be there when he got out of the shower?

The last was answered with Tim standing by the bed, already dressed and tugging on his boots. Even as Martin worked to formulate a question, Tim crossed the room with the steady thrum of his boots on the carpet and pulled Martin in for a kiss. 

“Need to get to my place, grab a shower and some clean clothes. If I’m late, make up a lie for me? Kay?”

Even before Martin could answer, he was out of the room and out the door. Martin stood there another five minutes before he remembered he was supposed to be getting ready for work.

In the end he didn’t see Tim again until it was almost time to leave. Clean up and filing and Jon kept Martin pretty busy as he scurried about the Institute, trying desperately not to think about the reality of what had happened - what did it mean now? Would it happen again? Did Tim regret what happened while he was drunk and they were being stupid? - and instead focus on the best parts of it. It was the later that left Martin uncomfortable most of the day, his trousers snug about the hips and trying to constantly ensure he was holding something in front of his crotch. 

It was the latter focus that had his attention when he nearly ran full force into Tim. Strong arms caught him before Martin skittered backwards, staring up into a lopsided grin.

“Walking a bit off, aren’t we?”

His tones were as wicked as the glint in his eyes and Martin stammered to find words. 

“You okay then?”

Maybe Martin was reading into it, but there seemed to be a lot more to those words than worrying about running into a near immovable object when Tim wanted to be. 

Martin managed to mutely nod. 

“Good. Glad to hear it. I’m thinking I’ll pick up take away and meet you at your place? Around eight-ish?”

Though he certainly worded it all as questions, Martin wasn’t quite sure it was. Again he managed to nod, before finding his voice. Well, a squeaky version of his voice.  
“Yes, certainly. That would be lovely.”

“About as lovely as watching you walk around here half hard all day,” he teased, moving to walk past Martin. As he did, he slapped him on the ass.

Martin squealed, jumping about a foot.

“Tim! Someone might see you!”

“Around here?” He snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure someone did.”

Certainly it was meant to be sarcasm, having no way of knowing that Elias was smirking in his office, watching the exchange curiously. 

“Well, that’s definitely good to know,” he murmured, possibly even to himself. “Might have to keep an eye on that. Can’t have them becoming too close. Hate to lose them both because of a little bit of puppy love. Or lust.”


End file.
